Birds of the Night
by gtgrandom
Summary: Kidnapped, Nightwing finds himself in the hands of two deadly villains who plan to transform him into a Talon. Batman, Artemis, and an unlikely hero will team together to bring him home. Takes place after Endgame. Slight Dick/Babs . Rated T for violence, torture, and some language.
1. Chapter 1

**So this takes place right after Endgame. Instead of it being the 4th of July, Dick leaves the team the day after Wally dies.**

"Business as usual," Dick said nostalgically, but his smirk faded quickly at the thought of his late best friend, and he turned and sauntered towards the zeta tube. Tears prickled in his eyes behind the domino mask. Wally. WALLY.

He couldn't be dead. Not him.

Dick waited for the bright light of zeta energy to teleport him back to Bludhaven, tilting his head upwards to prevent the tears from falling. He had lost his parents when he was eight, his entire family, and then just over a year and a half ago his adoptive brother. But now his best friend? The Wall-man, WALL-E, Baywatch. The guy he had shared memories and secrets with? The man who had fought by his side since he entered the _life_?

Dick must not deserve happiness. Maybe it was some kind of curse that prevented him from cherishing something for more than a decade before it's ripped away.

The yellow light faded and his stomach churned. He always got a little nauseous after teleporting, but tonight he felt much worse. It probably didn't help that he hadn't eaten since Barbara forced a granola bar down his throat, nearly two days ago.

He began making his way to his apartment, swinging building to building with his grappling gun. Usually the night cleared his head, but right now the whole world was closing in on him, suffocating him slowly. Even though they had defeated the Light and saved the world (what else was new?), he felt emptier than ever. Bruce had even come back, and Kaldur was in charge again, but nothing mattered anymore. He just...he just needed a break. From everything.

He landed on the roof of his apartment, ripping off the mask and wiping his eyes. Maybe he should just let it all out. Just scream at the world, at God, at whoever was pushing the buttons that made his life so difficult.

Worst of all, the issue he wouldn't accept, is that he hadn't ended things like he wanted to with Wally. Their recent relationship wasn't exactly a "falling out", but it wasn't how it used to be. Not at all. Sure, they had gotten Artemis back safe, which lifted the weight of the sky off Wally's shoulders. But the last time he had really spent any time with his friend had been when they'd fought at the Hall of Justice. They'd always beaten each other up a lot, and there had been times when Dick wanted to rip the guy's head off, but this was different. It felt like Wally had lost all his trust in Dick, all his confidence. He hadn't looked at him like an angry friend; he'd looked at him like a stranger. And that hurt.

Too late to mend things up now. Too late to say sorry, or goodbye, or—

Something was wrong. Dick could feel it in the air, in his blood. There had been a shadow bulging out behind one of the roof heaters; he'd figured it was part of the machinery; but it was gone now. _Not_ a good sign.

He hastily placed the mask back on his face and approached the ventilation system cautiously. He held his breath, and then he heard someone inhale sharply behind him.

He spun around, only to be stricken on the head with an exhaust pipe. He crumpled to the ground in surprise, more alarmed at his lack of good judgment than the pain. Blood trickled down his temple while he tried to recompose himself.

_Shake it off. Shake it off._

A man was standing over him, tall, with a stocky build, but the spots in front of Dick's vision concealed his face. He thought quickly. Hunched over, he swung his legs around, tripping the man and sending him to the ground with a displeased grunt. Dick stood, slightly staggering, with his eskrima sticks at the ready. The blow had been more severe than he'd thought. He blinked, and waited for the man to gather himself up again.

That was when he heard it. The laughter.

Dick shivered unconsciously. He did not fear many things, he couldn't; not with Bats around. And Joker himself wasn't what frightened him. Dick's biggest fear, his biggest weakness, was the well-being of his loved ones. It was one of the reasons Bruce distanced himself from  
everyone. He couldn't risk his enemies targeting them. But Dick couldn't keep his emotions so bottled up, and Joker had used this weakness on more than one occasion to bring him to his knees.

The laughter echoed around him, making Dick grasp his weapons with white knuckles.

"Show yourself, Joker."

"Aw, Bird Boy, you should know by now to call me Uncle J!" The voice sang, ice to Dick's blood.

"What do you want?" Dick was angry at himself. He had let his guard down, and now he was in a vulnerable position. Not to mention he was a Bat; he should be able to spot Joker in a second and have him sent back to Arkham before he could blink. But the rooftop was still, and he saw nothing.

"Well isn't it obvious? I want...you. Hahahahaha!"

That was when the shot rang out, and the bullet sailed through Dick's body.

* * *

Dick was slightly aware of himself being dragged. He would slide along the ground for a short period of time, and then the person holding on to the collar of his suit would pause, probably to catch their breath, and then continue again. Each time he moved he felt a singe of new pain, somewhere from the left side of his rib cage. His senses were dulled, and he couldn't think straight, so he came to the conclusion that he had been drugged. Big time.

He tried to distract the growing fear by reciting calculus equations in his head, over and over. It was something Bruce had taught him long ago. Then the dragging stopped, and he was slumped against a wall. His hands and feet were restrained with wire rope, but he was so drugged he wouldn't be able to use them anyway. His eyelids were heavy, making "seeing" rather impossible.

_This is just fantastic. What is this, the 12__th__ time I've been kidnapped? Or is it unlucky 13? _

The floor was cold to the touch, and the smell in the room was almost too familiar. He was in a hospital; probably the one downtown that had been abandoned after a few criminals set the bottom floor ablaze. Dick checked his waist, already knowing his utility belt would be gone, as well as his wrist computer. His shoes had been removed, along with his wire cutter hidden inside them. He was really wishing he hadn't extracted the locator chip Bruce had implanted last year. He'd wanted privacy, trust. Now he just felt like an idiot.

Bruce. He had wanted to talk to Dick after returning to the Watch Tower, but Dick needed to debrief Impulse on exactly what had happened to Wally, for the third time. Then the next day they'd both become busy with tasks involving the Reach and contacting other leaguers... He hadn't seen his mentor in about six months, and he left without saying more than a few "welcome backs". What was wrong with him?

Dick lifted his hand off his stomach to find it soaked in blood. Someone had bandaged his side, haphazardly, in hopes to stop the bleeding. That was odd; then again, Joker probably had some sick game planned where he needed Dick alive. He peeled up the edge of the gauze to examine his wound more carefully. A clean shot, in and out. It didn't look fatal. At least not yet.

After a few hours and regaining some of his senses, he realized he was locked in an empty wing, the windows and vents boarded up.

Joker was learning.

He'd been captured by the clown four times, and it was obvious Joker hated him more than anyone, or maybe it was just the Robin persona in general. He despised how Dick was the main focus of Batman's attention, how he was a "distraction" to his work. He loathed Nightwing even more for leaving the Bat, for being _unappreciative_ and _disrespectful_.

He'd killed Jason.

He'd murdered countless people.

And Dick was tired of him intervening in his life.

Speaking of which...

Joker popped his head into the room. "D'aww, looky there at the Bat Brat, all sleepy and full of narcotics."

Dick sat upright, wincing in pain, but defiant. "What do you want from me? Money? Batman? If you want I can call him over for a little reunion—"

"Oh, I hate to burst your bubble!" Joker licked his lips. "But as it turns out, I'm here on the behalf of someone else."

Dick tensed as the clown stepped closer. "You've partnered up with someone? Don't you usually just screw them over and end up stabbing them in the back? _Literally_?"

"Now, don't get your panties in a twist!"

The sound of a knife sliding across the wall sent a tremor down Dick's spine. Joker leaned in towards him and placed the cold blade against his cheek. His pasty face and yellow eyes screamed with insanity. "I thought after what I did to your replacement you would get the hint. Maybe I should remind you who I am..._Grayson_." Dick's breath hitched in his throat.

It couldn't be. That was impossible.

"That's right Tweety Bird. I know exactly who you are, and you better not tempt me, or you might just end up like the rest of your family." The knife dug into Dick's skin, sending a trail of blood down his face. It began to make its way to his mouth, like the same scars he was staring at with all the hatred he could muster.

"Joker! Let's go!" A voice called from the hallway. The clown growled, withdrawing from Dick, and he grabbed the hero by the hair. Mumbling, he dragged Dick out of the room, down the hallway, and into another wing.

Dick tried to fight back, but his movements were still sluggish and painful. This was a serious disaster. Heavy on the dis.

* * *

The Batmobile was quieter than usual. And that's saying something. Tim shut off his wrist computer, looking out the window with a frown on his face.

"You're worried about Dick," said Bruce flatly.

Tim sighed. "He just left. Without saying anything...It was his best friend, Bruce."

Bruce waited for Tim to continue. Like Dick, sometimes it was just better to let him get things off his chest.

"You should have seen his face, you know, when we met up with the rest of the team. He was holding Artemis, just with this look in his eyes. I've never seen that look before." Tim furrowed his brow. "I just...so much has happened to him, I'm scared that he...that he might..."

The car slowed to a halt inside the cave. "Tim, you're right. Dick has been through a lot, like all of us. But he is also one of the strongest people I know. He has to be. For you, for Alfred, for the team…and for me." Bruce turned off the engine. "Right now he just needs some distance. He'll be fine."

Tim nodded, but something in his gut said otherwise.

"Now, let's talk about you and Cassie."

* * *

"Dickie, I believe you've met Deathstroke."

The man clad in black with a goldenrod mask and gauntlets stepped forward. His right eye was blue and cold, the left covered by the black half of his helmet. Dick had come across his path more than a few times, especially recently with the whole "Artemis infiltrates the Light as Tigress, works by his side while Kaldur is temporarily comatose, and tries to save the world as the Reach invades it and almost destroys it" scenario.

Dick was tied to a table that resembled a large ironing board, turned upright like some kind of torture contraption, which it probably was. His hands and feet were bound to the sides with leather straps, his mask gone. Lights blared down on him angrily.

He felt naked without his mask. What did it mean that their identities were compromised? Was Bruce safe? Tim? Barbara?

Deathstroke strutted forward, hands behind his back and chest puffed like some kind of king. He drew his sword, swinging it around a few times and then pointing the tip at Dick's neck. "Well if it isn't Nightwing himself, superb crime-fighter, leader of the sidekicks, son of a bat...and a billionaire." He said bitterly. His voice was like mercury, solid and liquid at the same time.

His eye scanned Dick over. "Frankly, I'm underwhelmed."

Dick glared at him, "Says the guy who Aqualad locked in a submarine." He turned his focus to Joker. "What. Do. You. Want?"

"Ah, ah, ah...Don't speak out of turn, Bird Boy," Joker chided, walking over to a table equipped with all kinds of knives and weapons. After fluttering his hands over his choices, he picked up a screwdriver and walked towards Dick, spinning the tool delicately over his fingers.

"Now Joker, don't you think the boy deserves an answer? We brought him here in the middle of the night without telling him anything..." said Deathstroke mockingly, turning his back to Dick.

Dick noticed his ponytail for the first time and almost said something witty but felt this man was more capable than what he let on. And he let on a lot.

"Seeing that the Light and the Injustice League have both suffered such losses by a group of children, I figured it was high time I went solo again. It was then that I was hired by a new man. He is well known in your home town, perhaps you've heard of him." Deathstroke cocked his head. "He goes by Talon, and he wants us to turn you into one of Gotham's finest assassins, into the most feared man the city has ever seen."

* * *

"Please tell me you're joking."

Joker came forward. "Does it look like it?" His crazy eyes widened with amusement. "Oh wait." The clown began laughing again. That terrible, terrible laugh.

Dick could feel his body come alive; the drug had worn off. Toxic, maybe, but short-lived. "Your plan is flawed already. Batman is by far the most feared man...probably ever. Have you _seen_ his bat-glare?"

"Silence!"

"We will train you to be great, more powerful than you can imagine, and the people will cower at your feet." Deathstroke was looking off into the distance, as if the dream were coming together right in front of him.

Dick shook his head incredulously. "What makes you think I'll let you? Why would I become a villain and a slave—why would I work for you or for some Hawk guy?"

Joker appeared in front of him instantly, "His name is Talon, and I thought I told you to keep quiet!" He jammed the screwdriver into Dick's knee, making him gasp out in agony. It took a lot to make him scream, but Joker knew very well by now the level of pain Dick could tolerate. "Do you remember Mr. Screwdriver from last time, Dickie? Or perhaps you'd prefer to be reacquainted with the crowbar. I believe it was your brother's favorite."

Dick spat in the clown's face, revulsion boiling in his blood.

Deathstroke clicked his tongue. "You have a lot to learn Richard..."

* * *

4:00 A.M. and Bruce was still sitting at the computer, reviewing files and responding to emails. He was ineffably past "far behind" in his work with Wayne Industries, but aside all the future meetings and overdue reports, it was nice to be back.

"Master Bruce, I do wish you would take a small moment to recognize the mint condition of the Batcave. While you were gone, I spent a good deal of time waxing the—"

Bruce sighed, knowing the butler had been expecting something when he entered the cave. "Alfred, thank you. It looks absolutely wonderful, and...I missed you."

The old man smiled. "As I did you, Master Bruce."

Suddenly, a window popped up on the computer, an urgent message from Atom. "Batman...you need to see this."

The video changed to a dark setting, featuring a lone metal table and a windowless room. Joker's repulsive face came into view, smiling excitedly into the lens of the camera.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, aliens and animals, put your hands together for your very own, Nightwing!" The clown grinned a little wider and spun the table around, revealing a very bloody and exhausted hero. Batman stood up, eyes glued to the screen. He barely registered Alfred's tray crashing on the floor.

Dick's mask was off, the left half of his face completely bruised. His hair was disheveled, and his puffy eyes screamed with pain and defeat. His uniform was ripped open, showing bright red gashes through sweaty skin. There was a bullet wound in his rib cage and his knee was bleeding as well. It was a punch to Bruce's stomach, and he felt his fingers coil around the top of his chair.

"Enjoy the show."

* * *

Dick hadn't felt this terrible in a very long time. He hated feeling helpless, and like someone had run him over with a freight train...

_ "Grayson, Talon is your great-grandfather..."_

_"And you're a flying unicorn..."_

_SMACK! _

_"...Batman knew, and he didn't tell you...We have proof Dick. DNA, hidden records..."_

_"You're lying." _

_But Dick was a people-person; he could usually tell when someone was being deceitful. Plus he had brothers, and you learn from experience. _

_He'd seen the pictures, there wasn't denying the resemblance. _

_"His name is William Cobb. He was taken in by Haly; the circus has ties with the Court of Owls. They generate groups of young athletes every decade for the Court to take and train as assassins..." _

_"That's ridiculous..."_

_More photos. More blows to the face. More laughter._

_"...you were supposed to become an assassin Dick. Everything you learned was for a purpose." SMACK! He felt something, a tooth, fly out of his mouth. To his surprise, (and slight disgust), Deathstroke reached down and picked it up, presenting it in front of Dick's eyes. "This filling is the mark of all Talons. This is who you are. Past, present, future. Your family was going to send you away to become a killer!" _

_"Oh but they died, Dickie!"_

_"Yes, their untimely deaths and your adoption by Bruce Wayne diminished your destiny as a Talon..."_

_"No."_

_"...now is your time to fulfill it. This is your fate, boy."_

What they said couldn't be true. They had told him lies. Only lies.

And yet…

Deathstroke came forward and fastened wires onto his chest, dragging the ends of the cables behind the table. Someone else stepped into the light. His small grin, his pale face, his sickly visible brain…

Psimon.

"Remember me?"

The psychic placed his delicate, creepy fingers on each of his temples, and Dick could feel him pierce his mind. His eyes rolled back as the images began to play, showing the news broadcasts of his family's death so many years ago, their brains scattered across the floor, limbs bent in horrifying positions.

_As if lying to you about your past wasn't enough, Batman didn't even tell you that the man who murdered your parents is still alive. Yes, Dick. Zucco didn't die from a heart attack. He went into a coma, and later was sent to jail. In a couple years, he will get out, just like all the others._

Dick's arms struggled against the restraints, the leather so tight it sank into his wrists. "Stop it!" The images were graphic, and they burned into his eyes.

Suddenly, his muscles flexed, and his body became rigid. A jolt of white hot electricity shuddered through his body, a scream escaping behind his gritted teeth. He could hear Joker's cackle in the background.

_"You're not Bruce's son, Dick. He hasn't included you in his will. After a decade, you're still just a sidekick."_

The images warped into memories of Jason, happy, alive, and then bloody and singed from the explosion. _"You're just another pawn. He put you out, at the age of nine, into the field, likely to be murdered. If you died, as did your replacement, he wouldn't even end the man who killed you, he'd let him live. Because you're nothing."_

Another shot of electricity. The pain was unreal; it felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside, like every cell in his body was lit aflame. And there was no way he could pass out, no matter how much he wanted to.

_"You're not a hero. You're a disgrace, Dick. While in charge, you let your base be blown to smithereens, you let your best friend die; you put your teammates through hell, sacrificing them all for a mission."_ That's when Dick began to sense a fear within him, a sensation so dark and frightening, yet familiar. He knew that feeling, and that it was engendered by none other than Scarecrow himself.

All these villains, they had come together for _this_? What was the point? To see the son of a bat become brain-dead, to see him writhe in pain and then die?

He tried to hold his breath, but the poison entered his lungs, and the memories exploded with terror. Dick yelled for them to stop. His mouth was full of blood from biting his tongue in pain, and tears streamed down his face. He couldn't fight anymore; it was useless. He could feel his heart dying, both emotionally and physically.

_"You're afraid, Dick. You always have been. You were raised by the Flying Graysons, who defied death, defied fear, but not you. _

_"How could you be Robin? How could you possibly assist the Dark Knight when you are afraid, afraid he wouldn't need you anymore, afraid your teammates would die under your command? And now, both of those fears have been realized, haven't they? _

_"You were meant to be alone, to bring suffering to others. You're determined, clever, and impulsive, traits of a true assassin. It's in your DNA, and like your great grandfather, you are a Talon."_

Another round of voltage sent Dick screaming till his voice ran hoarse.

* * *

**Hope you guys like it so far! **


	2. Chapter 2

**So I'm sorry this took so long! My last story I had the whole thing posted in like a week! I've just been UBER busy and haven't had a chance to write.**

* * *

"My God."

Those were the only words spoken in the room of the WatchTower for the past hour. When the video feed finally ended, Superman and Atom tried to pry Batman away from the monitor, while Aqualad and Black Canary comforted a distressed Batgirl.

"He was just here...he..." she covered her mouth with a shaking hand, staring at the video still of Dick. He was worse than bruised and bloodied...more damaged than she had ever seen him. He had been _broken_.

Bruce was silent.

Clark eyed him cautiously, as if he were a bomb about to detonate. The torture had lasted forever, shock after shock, then the gas. It hadn't just been physical abuse either. No. It had been a mental disease, and Clark could only imagine the thoughts Psimon had fed him. He hoped the boy would be strong enough to resist, but honestly, how much of that could he take before he snapped?

Bruce had lost too many people already, another—especially Dick—would send him over the edge.

Then Bruce turned and stalked towards the zeta tube, right as Robin came running into the room, red and agitated. He was in sweats with his sunglasses barely on, no doubt just out of bed. "What just—I saw it in the Cave! Why does Joker have him?! His mask was gone…We need to find him! We have to find him! He's going to die and it's all our fault!"

"Tim—"

The teen grabbed at his hair. "Dick is there because we let him leave right after Wally died! His best friend! And now he's being electrocuted by the same man who killed Jason and—"

Batman grabbed him fiercely and pulled him into a hug, letting the slightly startled boy melt into his arms. The others in the room stood by motionless as the echo of Tim's sobs reverberated around the room. After a moment he pulled back shamefully.

"I'm sorry. I'm just freaking out for him."

"I'm going to find him. He isn't going to die." With that the Dark Knight left the WatchTower.

* * *

Dick had a lot of nightmares the next few days. Or maybe they were reality. What was the difference?

His injuries began to heal; Deathstroke had wrapped his wounds with a special herb, and his skin was already scabbing over in some areas. He really hoped nothing was infected; the places he'd been kept were disgusting. And he'd been in some pretty ugly situations. Then again, they were only healing his wounds so they could keep hurting him without killing him. If he got infected then it was pretty much game over...

His psychotherapy had put him into little fits. After Psimon erased specific memories, that's right —_erased_ them—their scraps would come back all at once in an excruciating montage. He often couldn't differentiate from the past and the present, as if he were stuck on a ride through time and didn't know where to get off. So he would cling to routine and welcome torcher, as long as he knew where he was and what he was doing.

He wasn't a religious person, mainly because he'd never grown up with parents who took him to church. But right now he wished he knew how to pray, how to ask for some help. He wished he could connect with his parents spiritually, or with Jason, or...Wally. Anything to not feel so alone. Abandoned.

He still had hope though. He could still will himself to believe that Bruce was coming for him.

* * *

It had been two months since Dick went missing.

If you could even call it that.

Bruce had spent every second thinking of a way to find him, to bring him home. But he had tried and failed again, unable to present any good news for Tim, who had been affected the most by Dick's disappearance. The kid started school last week, and he could barely balance all of his advanced classes on top of being a superhero, let alone pass each day worrying for his brother. Then, Bruce had to be concerned about which villains now knew their identities, if Joker had shared the video with more than just the League. He knew the clown didn't care about the man under the mask, that he only wanted Batman and not Bruce, but what about his family? Were they in danger? He had increased security around the manor and warned Barbara to keep an eye out, but who knows what they were in for.

Joker, Psimon, and Deathstroke were nowhere in Bludhaven or Gotham; he had checked every crevice, had asked every piece of filth on the street. They could be anywhere: on the west coast, in China, in outer space for all he knew. If Dick had just left his stupid tracking device alone!

Bruce slammed his fist on the table.

While the League and the team were helping the best they could, this kidnapping had been thoroughly planned out. In other words, Dick might not make it home for quite a while, if he even has that long.

"Master Bruce, you have a visitor," announced Alfred. The old man had aged a decade in the past few weeks.

"Who is—?"

"Miss Crock, sir."

Bruce sighed. "Can you tell her to come back later?"

"I'm sorry sir, I'm afraid she's quite persistent."

Bruce nodded and wiped his hand over his eyes, utterly exhausted. The last thing he needed was another teenager yelling at him for not doing enough.

Artemis appeared at the stairs. She walked down quickly and then stood across from him, arms crossed.

Before she could open her mouth Bruce shook his head. "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" She protested. The rings around her eyes were almost as bad as his.

"You were going to say that you wanted to help me find Dick."

She huffed. "_And_…that I would be helpful. I've been around a lot of criminals my whole life, I know my way around, I know how to—"

"Artemis, I'm sorry, but I don't have time for this."

The blonde glared at him, stepping closer, something flashing in her eyes. She pointed her finger at his chest. "Bruce, I lost my two best friends in a span of a couple months. Wally, with him being gone, I can't…" She bit her lip, "Dick is one of the few people I have left. I need to do something, something besides checking deserted buildings with the team. I _have_ to." She sank back on her heels.

"_Please_."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. Artemis had always been trouble, from the very start. She was always bold, tenacious, and plainly speaking, had balls. After all, there weren't very many girls who would step up to _Batman_. But she loved Dick too. And she deserved to fight for what she loved, she deserved a chance.

"I know I'm going to regret this." He crossed his arms, millions of reasons to back out of his decision jabbing at his brain. "Suit up."

Her face brightened. "Yes, sir!"

_I regret it already._

* * *

_"Don't you have a plane to catch? Literally?"_

_"Bruce."_

_"Clark, I really don't need any fatherly advice right now."_

_"The kid lost his parents. You of all people should understand what he needs, and it __isn't__ isolation. Look, I know you have this fantasy where you only have to interact with him when you're patrolling, but he needs a father figure!"_

_"Damnit, I know that! But I'm not a dad; I'm hardly even Bruce Wayne." It wasn't Bruce talking. It was Batman, who had just lost another night of sleep investigating the Graysons' murder. _

_Superman glared at him, and Dick was worried he was going to fry Bruce into ashes. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you adopted him."_

_"I did. But I saw myself in him, Clark! He knows me, __really__ knows me, like no one I've ever met; I knew he needed someone there for him…" Bruce sighed, swiveling around in his chair to face his computer. He was scared to let the boy in. Letting him in meant someone getting hurt. And that was the last thing he wanted. Dick was special, he had made an impression in his heart...in Batman's heart...and if he left too deep of a mark, losing him would be..._

_Clark thought he saw something in the rafters, and he lowered his voice. "He's only nine. Just take off the cowl and spend some time with him…" He turned to leave. "You may be incapable of loving anyone, but at least give him a chance to love you."_

Dick shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory.

How long had it been? How many months had he endured? Why wasn't he dead yet?

Dick didn't know anything anymore. He was afraid of his own shadow, and even that he didn't recognize. He had been locked up in a small gloomy room. Each day he'd get the same injection that did something to whack up his nervous system, Joker's same torture routine, the same portion of bread, soup, and water. Then they'd move locations, and he'd be stuffed into another dark room. And he knew Psimon came in while he was sleeping to eliminate any of his joyous memories, to make the bad ones resurface, never to be forgotten.

At first he'd kept his cool, knowing Bruce would arrive soon enough. He'd play with words and keep his devilish grin, even after twenty minutes of waterboarding. But Bruce hadn't come.

Now he'd just succumbed to it all, for he was too weak to revolt, too hollow to escape. He couldn't feel anymore.

And honestly, he didn't want to.

"Aw Bird Boy, I'll admit, you're a lot less fun now." Joker tugged on the chains. Dick didn't bother protesting, he just dragged himself to his feet and followed the clown, per usual.

"I suppose it's what they say. You never really appreciate what you have until it's gone. Your happiness, my sanity. Ah, the good ol' days!"

"Leave him here, Joker. Remove the chains."

Dick didn't even notice the weight of the handcuffs disappear.

Deathstroke paced the floor. "The wild stallion in you has been broken, Dick. Now it is time to train you, to set you back on your feet and into the range."

The old Dick would have said something witty about metaphors. But he was gone. He was dead.

"First, you must become comfortable with killing. No need to train you unless you can ultimately finish the task." The villain gestured to Joker, who brought out a man dressed in baggy clothes, carrying the stench of cigarettes. He fell to the ground, keeping his head down.

"Kill him."

The man gaped. "No! I didn't do anything! Please, please, I'll give you whatever you want!"

Dick looked back at the floor. "He's an innocent man."

Deathstroke scoffed. "No man is innocent, Dick. Your parents, who you admired, were ready to hand you over to a group of assassins. Batman became who he was out of revenge. This man is a drug dealer who has dealt in the black market for years. _Justice_ is inexistent."

Dick felt a flare ignite inside him, the first kind of energy he'd felt in a long time. "So he deserves to die?"

Deathstroke's eyes became slits. "To kill is to survive, Dick." He exhaled, sitting down on the chair. "Let me make this simple for you. Kill him. _Or_ _else_."

Dick winced, knowing what the latter proposal meant. It was wrong; it went against everything he knew. "I don't know how to kill a —"

"That's a lie, Dick. You learned the restrictions to fighting at an early age. You learned where not to strike, and how much force was necessary to land a blow without putting the given person in a body cast. Now I'm telling you to forget it all, forget the rules. Just let out your anger, your fear."

Dick looked strangely at the man pleading on the ground. He knew that kind. The same scum he had dealt with nightly before, when he was somebody. No. When he was a partner, a sidekick to the Bat. The Bat who hadn't even come for him. Who didn't care.

And here this man was, kneeling before him, begging for mercy.

"Kill. Him."

"Please, I have a family! They need me!"

In a swift motion Dick struck at his windpipe, and the man fell to the ground, grasping at his throat. In several seconds he went limp. Joker's laughter bled through the walls.

Dick looked down at the hand that had done it, turning it over curiously. Something very peculiar was growing within him. Having that power over someone else, seeing what he could do...it was _fascinating_. He had entered a realm in his mind where he felt no remorse. He only felt a little surge of pride. A little bit of...relief.

"Good..." Deathstroke gestured towards the door, and another man came in. "Again."


	3. Chapter 3

**Here you go! **

"Processing scans," informed the scarab, providing details about the chamber's contents. Even _it_ seemed disappointed.

"There's nothing...just blood…and Fear Gas…" Blue Beetle informed while analyzing the dark room, his hope waning. "Nightwing's —" He snapped a glance at Robin, who was absorbed in his own thoughts. Then he turned towards Kid Flash.

They exchanged knowing looks. "We've been here for a while, Rob. Maybe we should head back."

Robin knew they were right. No one had been here for weeks. But they were close, and it gave him hope knowing his brother might still be alive.

He knelt down where Dick's blood spotted the floor.

_"What are you doing?" Dick's voice startled him, and he flushed when he realized he had been staring at Cassie fight._

_"I uh…observing…combat techniques?" _

_ Dick's sunglasses dropped to the tip of his nose. "Sure, sure." Tim could tell he was trying not to smile. "But you know, I've learned from experience that girls don't appreciate it when you stalk them."_

_ Tim gaped. "That's __not__ what I was doing!" He shrugged off his older brother's arm, and Dick started laughing. His grin faltered when he realized the teen looked hurt. _

_ After a moment Dick's lips parted and he got that glint in his eyes that made Tim nervous. "Hey, come on." He pulled him into the room as Cassie drank her water, perspiration dotting her hairline. Conner, her training partner, had left to take Wolf out, although Tim suspected it had more to do with Megan's quick entrance and awkward retreat at the end of the foyer. _

_ "Cassie, your right hook is looking really good!" Dick commented, winking at Tim, who rolled his eyes._

_ "Uh, thanks, Nightwing." She smiled genuinely, glancing strangely at Robin. _

_ "I wanted to teach you that new maneuver I've been working on, but I have a lunch date. Tim will do it for me though, won't you?" Tim's mouth fell open and he had to restrain himself from tackling Dick to the ground._

_"Sure, I mean, if you want to learn it…still." He looked at Cassie, his stomach fluttering._

_ She smiled. "Ya! I uh…I'm up for it."_

_"Alright kids, gotta run," Dick turned to leave and waved his eyebrows at the younger boy. Your welcome, he seemed to say._

The memory faded, leaving a bitter taste in Tim's mouth. "I'm going to find you, Dick. And I won't stop looking until I do."

* * *

As the professor turned to write the equation on the board, a student whispered to her friend, "Did you hear? Grayson's in Africa! He's doing some charity thing for the kids there. Isn't that sweet?"

Barbara slumped back in her chair. If only…

This semester was a train wreck. Dick was her study buddy, and while she knew that was no excuse for getting C's, she also knew that he was the source for all her troubles. Like usual. Plus, she was worried about Vandal Savage, who obviously was up to something big off world, and her life continued to pile up on stress, work, and laundry.

She hadn't slept well since she'd seen that video, and Dick's screams continued to echo in her ears, constantly sending shivers up her spine. She just wanted to kiss him and tell him it would all be okay, to hold his hand like he'd done for her. But she couldn't. And she might never be able to again.

_Stop it! Don't think like that._

The professor's monotone voice rambled on as she closed her eyes, picturing Dick running in late for class, handing in a perfect report typed up this morning. He would be smiling at the teacher and sitting next to her, as though nothing ever happened. He'd wrap his arm around her shoulder, oblivious to the others in the room, and kiss her softly on the cheek. And life would go on, like it always does.

The bell rang. She scolded herself for falling asleep again.

She needed Dick back.

* * *

"No. You must not use the sword as a separate weapon. It must be part of you, another limb." Slade chastised. Deathstroke told him to call him Slade from now on, that they were all 'friends here'. "Get up."

Dick grunted, getting back on his feet. He had bruises and nicks all over his body from the training. If Slade was going easy on him, he'd hate to see him in the thick of a battle.

Dick felt like a completely different person, and it wasn't just the new clothes. He was no longer the person he remembered, or could remember the person he was. Sure, not all of his memories were gone; that would leave him confused and defenseless. He remembered bits of the circus, his family's death, being Robin, the Team, and essentially getting "fired". But that was pretty much the gist of what ran through his brain, the rest were survival tactics. He could see faces, but most of the time they came and went without names, without purpose. Except Bruce. He often came to mind, fueling his rage. Strange, how he went from love to hatred so fast. Emotion really was a weakness; it blinds the person from seeing what's right in front of them. A distraction.

He observed the assassin carefully. Then he jabbed a fake blow to the left and prodded his elbow towards the right side of Slade's face. The older man ducked, almost slicing Dick in half in the process, but Dick blocked the sword with his own, creating an impasse.

"Better. But your footing is off, and if I didn't know any better I'd say you were on Xanax."

Dick narrowed his eyes. Then he staggered back, clutching his head. The _feeling_ was coming back. He tried to fight the memory, but he couldn't, and then the images drowned his eyes.

_"Better." Bruce said, moving the worn punching bag out of the way. _

_"I'm not very strong," grumbled young Dick as he glared at his taped knuckles._

_"Brute force is not a method of fighting." The man noted and pointed to his brain. "Intelligence, precision, and balance are."_

_Dick smiled. "I guess I'm pretty good at balancing." _

_"You're a gymnast. I sure hope so." Bruce patted the boy on the back, checking the time. It was late, a few hours before patrol. "That's enough for today."_

_"Can we go do something? I know you have to go out later, but…" _

_The man's mouth tightened. Dick couldn't call it a frown because he rarely smiled, so in a way he was always frowning. "Like what?" _

_"Um…can we go for a ride in the…Batmobile?" The boy whispered the last word. He had only been in the car twice, once when he was completely unconscious._

_Bruce weighed the idea, and then gave in to the pleading blue eyes. If only he know how many times he would fall victim to that face. "You bet we can, Chum."_

_Dick jumped in delight and raced out of the room, stopping in the hallway before Alfred scolded him for running indoors._

The scene blurred.

Dick cringed in pain, waiting for the head rush to subside. _Stop messing with my mind! _He wanted Bruce out of his brain, out of his life.

Slade watched him curiously, but said nothing. When Dick had regained his balance he snatched his sword off the ground and stood at the ready.

* * *

"This is gross."

Batman glowered.

"Oh, right. My bad." Tigress twisted the imaginary key to her mouth and tossed it away.

He sighed, for once in his life pitying Ollie's role as "uncle". However, she did have a point, and the stench was almost overbearing.

The pile of men was large, probably twenty, all mangled on top of each other, all dead. They had each been killed in different ways. Broken necks, bullet wounds, concussions…it was strange. Batman didn't know where to connect the dots with this and Dick's disappearance, but he knew random acts like these weren't common, even for Star City.

Tigress knelt by one of the victims, peering close to his face. "Huh."

"What?"

"Oh, so we can talk now?"

His scowl answered her question. "This man used to work for my dad. Jerod Bailey. A thug who got too high off of methamphetamine and was released from his employment. Didn't see him again, but last I heard he was back in action and high on the crime caste system…"

Interesting. Maybe it wasn't as random as he thought.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

Batman had intercepted a call about a serious massacre and came to check it out before the swarm of police could arrive. Since Tigress had insisted she could help with anything Deathstroke related, he approved to bringing her along. Now their time was up, and they definitely didn't want to be caught in the midst of this mess. Not only would it look suspicious, but this wasn't his city, and he couldn't defy the law as easily here.

He motioned for them to leave through the back exit, but Tigress stopped in her tracks. He thought his glare would be manipulating enough, but she completely ignored him and hustled to the end of the warehouse. Left with no choice, he followed her to the garbage bins, where he found what she was gazing at; the sleeve of a black and blue Kevlar costume, torn and barely visible out of the metal lid. There was no garbage duty down at this end of the city; utility workers crossed this place off their grid, and for good reason. It was a perfect way to dispose of something you didn't want to be found.

Batman clenched his jaw. _No. This can't be right. They wouldn't discard his clothes unless they ki…no, even then, they wouldn't rid his uniform. It wouldn't make sense. _

Tigress was well aware of the sirens, but her feet couldn't move. Nightwing's uniform was in the dumpster. The _dumpster_! What the hell? She prayed they didn't do anything…nasty to him. Deathstroke wasn't the type to go that far, but who knew what Joker was up to, or Psimon and his creepy-ass hands. She blinked a few times, realizing the police had finally arrived, the feds probably not that far behind. She hesitated to touch Batman's shoulder, but before she had to decide he turned and fled for the "car". Feeling her heart flux, she glanced back at the empty suit and then disappeared into the dark, questions and uncertainties fluttering in her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**WOOHOO AN UPDATE! **

* * *

Tim sat in Dick's old room. It felt pretty normal, partly because Alfred kept it dust free, as though Dick had been there just a few hours ago. But there was still a lingering qualm in the air, and it brought the ugly truth front and center.

He took out the junk box from under the bed and laid it on his lap. They weren't supposed to keep things related to their hero lives "upstairs", but Dick always preserved it safely out of sight. He had shown it to Tim when he first moved in, trying to make him feel more at home.

"For Robin Only" was scribbled across the top in childish handwriting.

Tim reached in and pulled out the picture of Dick's graduation day. He had let the girls on the Team decorate his academic cap, which was probably the worst decision he could have ever made. Cassie, Karen, and M'gann had gone all out with bedazzling "I'm Fabulous" on the top in pink and black studs. Nevertheless, Dick was grinning broadly, one arm draped around Babs and his other hand on Tim's shoulder. Dick was always so happy; just being around him could make anyone feel better.

Tim needed him here to tell him that'd it'd be okay. That'd they'd find him eventually, and that everything would work out like it usually did.

The rest of the box included a rusty batarang, a Superman autographed baseball, a retro Robin action figure, a snapshot of him and Wally on a rollercoaster, his mom's wedding ring, and some other mementos from over the years.

Dick had been— is?was?—his hero, his role model ever since he saw him fly through the air at the circus that night. He'd always tried his best to live up to Dick's legacy, and it felt so good to share a semi-functional-though-not-really family. He was really the only person he could talk to about things. Sure, Bruce and Alfred had their moments, but Dick was the only one who wasn't emotionally detached or…dead.

He stuck the first photo in his jacket pocket and tucked the box back under the bed.

Bruce was never around anymore. He was always in the cave or making up lost time for his company or out trying to find Dick. He'd partnered up with Artemis, which pissed Tim off beyond all things since the man had clearly stated he was doing this _alone_.

He still had the Team to help, but as the months ticked by, fewer and fewer seemed to believe Dick was alive. After all, they had all dealt with a lot of trauma the past year, and hope was becoming harder to come by. Kaldur betrayed them, Artemis "died", Roy came back, Blue briefly turned Armageddon, Kaldur and Artemis returned, (meaning Dick had lied to them all for almost a year), Wally died, and now Dick was gone too. But Tim and Bruce both knew he was still alive. He wouldn't go down without a fight, or a _really_ dramatic exit. Plus, if Joker and Deathstroke murdered him, they'd let the whole world know they'd killed Batman's son.

…Right?

"Ah, Master Timothy. I didn't expect to find you here."

Tim looked up sadly, meeting Alfred's gaze. "…It's been a long time, Al."

The meaning behind the words made the old man blink away tears. "Indeed it has." He came into the room, the floor creaking under his shoes. He chuckled quietly. "I remember when Master Dick first came to this house. He was not used to this kind of extravagance, being raised in a circus trailer, and he would often stare at the simplest of things in awe for _hours_. It made me realize how much we take for granted. He showed me what little it takes to make one content, that all you need is a plate of cookies and a stuffed elephant to smile again…he taught me many things, come to think of it."

Tim patted the older man's arm and turned to exit, but then glanced back at the worn Haly's Circus poster above the bed. _Come home._

* * *

He didn't understand. That person in the mirror – that wasn't, that _couldn't_ be him. His eyes were plugs for the holes in his head, dull, hard, yet experienced. His face was sunken in and bony, his hair short like a soldier. He still remembered hearing the unnerving buzz of the razor against his skull as Joker shaved off his hair. Once his dark locks had meant something sentimental to him…but he couldn't find himself missing them.

He'd never been so lost. So confused. How could he know what he was meant to be, if he couldn't remember who he was? More importantly, how was he supposed to _spruce_ up? It looked like he'd been to hell and back.

They'd traveled for several days to get here. First they had been on a plane, returning to the U.S. from overseas. Dick wasn't exactly sure where he'd been the last few weeks. Libya? Egypt? Somewhere sandy?

He hadn't felt anything to be heading home. There was nothing here for him except for the secret society he belonged to. There was nothing else. No one else.

They'd arrived south of Central City and driven to Gotham to avoid arousing suspicion. At a certain point, Joker had said his goodbyes, and Dick had numbly watched him disappear down a subway station.

They'd finally arrived at a shabby antique shop. It ran a normal business, meanwhile being the perfect entrance to an underground labyrinth. After many long tunnels and hazardous staircases, they'd reached the guarded doors of the Talons.

He had trained with Slade. He'd learned how to end someone in mere seconds.

Now he had to prove himself to the Court.

* * *

"So this is the Grayson heir."

"Yes, my Lord," answered Slade, bowing his head.

Dick was in the cafeteria, sitting alone. The Elders of the Court were observing him through the one-way window, sizing him up, and deciding if he was worthy. First impressions were key, something Slade had stressed on the boy more than enough. This stage in selection was literally life or death.

"Does he revolt? Is he resistant?" asked Cobb. The owl mask muffled his voice, but Slade knew he'd earned that raspy gravel somewhere over his too-long-of-a-life.

"He was at first, but he has embraced this life much quicker than we anticipated." _Much quicker. _ "With his…_past affiliations_, and his recent training, I believe he is ready for anything you throw at him." Slade was unaware how many in the room knew of Dick's relation to Batman. Cobb had figured it out long ago, but Slade was positive if the word got out, it wouldn't be long before Dick was ripped to shreds.

"Well, let's see how my grandson embraces _initiation_."

* * *

Dick was a murderer. A cold blood assassin. And how long had it taken to transform him from a law-abiding hero to a killing machine?

Six months.

_Only_ six months. It got Dick thinking. Maybe this was what he was meant to do. Maybe this _was_ his destiny. Something inside of him had always wondered if justice was catching the bad guys, handing them over to corrupt cops, and then catching them again after they break out and commit more crimes. Maybe this was the only way to save Gotham.

"Look at this guy! New recruit!" cooed a life-sized version of G.I .Joe, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Dick continued to eat, indifferent to the bully. The room was large, but he felt constricted, trapped. He was fifty feet under the ground after all. If his shredded memory served him correctly—he never liked being buried alive.

"Oh I wouldn't mess with him, Carver. He's Cobb's great grandson!"

There was a galore of "oos" and "aahs", and Dick could feel the crowd grow. It was like high school all over again.

Carver's head snapped back to Dick. "This guy?! This toothpick is Richard John Grayson, the one and only? Pff! What a jip. He couldn't kill someone even if he wanted to."

Dick squeezed his orange juice a little too hard. Glass shattered all over the table, making the room fall quiet again. He felt like he was in the Hunger Games. All these kids, these teens, garbed in the same fighting gear. They were assassins in training, most of whom wanted to tear him to bits. It wasn't an exaggeration; he was the adopted son of Bruce Wayne, the man who had, in their eyes, ruined Gotham.

"Did he strike a nerve, freak?" Another taunted, shoving Dick. "Did you hear me? I'm talking to you!" He grabbed Dick's shoulder to turn him around, but Dick reacted. He punched the boy in the nose and while cupping the back of his head, kneed him straight in the face. He collapsed as one of his friends came to help. Dick dodged the rash series of strikes, found himself behind the guy, kicked him in the back, and threw him into another approaching boy. The mass of students began attacking him, but after several seconds ten of them lay on the ground, bleeding or barely conscious.

Carver straightened. He did a nice job at hiding his fear, as most of these kids probably learned to do over the years here. Hell, Dick had been fed that lesson for breakfast the last ten years.

He grabbed G.I. Joe's throat, closing the space in his hand. "Who's laughing now?" he questioned, feeling himself smile. Carver's pulse grew sparse against his fingers while he clawed at them, gasping.

"Grayson that's enough!" The sound of his own name in the speaker brought him back, and he released the young man, letting him drop to the ground whimpering.

Two men with masks like Friday the 13th mixed with ceramic owls came to escort Dick out of the room. Before they could grab him, he snagged a bagel, and then peacefully followed them out, winking at the hidden room of impressed officials, and ignoring the incredulous looks of the other students.

* * *

Dick had been accepted. In fact, he was so remarkable that he'd been moved to the top of his rank. As a test of his dedication, tonight he would assassinate John Michaels, a detective with a lead on one of the owl's co-executives. He was to delete every file involving the Court, and erase every database. More than an easy job for someone trained by…well, for being a talented hacker.

Dick changed into his uniform: a black and gold breastplate with Kevlar joining strips on his sides, sharp feathered shoulder pads, and long silver gauntlets with _talons_ poking through the seams of each knuckle. His black pants met gilded shin guards and lightweight shoes. Around his waist were a series of knives and small weapons, waned in significance by the large sword on his back.

He unsheathed the lengthy, silver weapon engraved with the Grayson crest, and marveled at its unspoken power. If he succeeded tonight, he could become the next Talon. He could be a member of the brethren that watched over his city.

Slade leaned against the cot, watching Dick curiously. "You remind me of my son, you know."

Dick peeled his eyes away from his sword to look up in mild surprise. "I didn't know you had one."

Slade nodded. "Joseph is his name." He seemed to ponder over something before he spoke again. "I'm leaving now, and chances are, we won't see each other for some time. I know this is where you belong, where you will do great things. But Dick, if you ever seek something different, another life, I'll be watching."

Dick didn't turn to watch him go; he was used to people leaving him. Instead he sat on the wooden-framed bed, balancing the sword over his fingers.

_"So…do I get cool toys...er...weapons too?"_

_The man spit out his toothpaste and chuckled as he wiped his mouth. The boy copied, eyes still pinned to his guardian's face while he patted his face dry._

_"Yes…no partner of mine is going out there without ways to protect himself, including lots and lots of training."_

_Dick sighed. "I know, you told me it's going to take a long time before I go out in the field with you again…I'm just really excited!" Bruce poured the mouth wash into the lid of the container, taking a small sip and then handing it to the boy idiosyncratically, who gurgled it without question. He was standing on a small stool so he could see himself squarely in the mirror like his mentor. Most weekdays they wouldn't get ready together, but Bruce woke up late, and Dick had anticipated talking to him about last night's patrol. _

_"Wh…kn….a…st…ff?" _

_Bruce stopped his comb mid stroke, "What?"_

_Dick finished sloshing the liquid and rinsed his mouth with water, face distorted because of the different flavor. Alfred had bought a new brand, one for improving teeth and cavity prevention. "That's nasty…" He turned to the older man. "Sorry, I said 'what kind of stuff? Batarangs? Smoke bombs? That thing that lets you swing from building to building?"_

_Bruce tried not to smile as the boy reached for his comb and attempted to part his hair the same as his. "It's called a grappling gun."_

_"Oh cool. Do I get my own special weapon? Like a sword? I always thought those were really awesome. I mean I wouldn't kill anybody with it, like…__ever__… but I think it'd be cool to just have one, kind of as a last resort item to show off, you know?"_

_The older man tilted his head disapprovingly, not wanting to completely destroy the kid's dreams. "Usually we try to dress in attire that keeps us light on our feet. I don't think a sword is going to work." He lifted his chin towards the mirror, examining the short stubble._

_"Awww man! Can't you see it though? I could be all Hya! Cha!" The boy made slicing movements through the air, wobbling slightly on the stool but regaining his balance. When he saw Bruce apply the cream to his face and begin to shave, he leaned closer to his reflection. "Huh..." Disappointment doused his words. _

_Silently, Bruce grabbed his hand and sprayed the foam into his ward's palm, picking a razor with the plastic top covering the blades. The boy beamed up at him appreciatively and carefully scraped away the soap on his face._

* * *

Batman watched the rundown apartment from a safe distance. "Are you sure about this?"

"Oh, please. Just watch." Artemis pulled up the mini skirt and unbuttoned her blouse. Once she felt she was as slutty as she was going to get, she knocked.

The door half-opened, and a timid, squat man peeked out. "What do you want?" He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and black slacks that hugged his legs a little too tightly.

Artemis flipped her hair, shifting her weight on to her other leg. "How about you for a night, honey?" She winked.

The man looked her over and smiled, opening the door wider as a gesture to come in. Artemis swallowed her disgust as she entered.

He checked the street one last time before shutting the door. While locking it, he asked, "So, how much do you charge, beautif—?"

Artemis tackled him to the floor, bringing her knife from her thigh to his throat in a swift motion. "Sorry, bud, but you can't afford me."

The man's terrified expression morphed into a smug grin, with yellow, tobacco worn teeth. That was when Artemis heard the click of a gun, and felt the cold metal against her temple. "Drop the knife, hands in the air."

"Artemis?" Batman's voice. Artemis let go of her weapon, scolding herself.

"I'll give you five seconds to tell me who you are," said the man holding the gun.

"I just need the money, I didn't mean to —"

The weapon was shoved harder into her brain. "That didn't sound like a name, did it now?"

Artemis chewed her lip. Where _was_ he? Batman had been teetering on the edge of getting involved in this, mainly because it might send the fools back to their employer and scare off their only chances of finding Joker. Eager to do something, Artemis had accepted the challenge. _Stupid_.

"My name is Sally Winston. My father is a realtor and my mama's dead. We don't have a penny; p-please just let me go." She calculated the probability of her survival if she took him down now. If she could move fast enough...

"Cool story, not believable, but good. Unfortunately, that was strike three, so..."

His finger began to pull the trigger when the gun flew from his hands, landing on the other side of the room with a batarang stuck in the barrel.

"What the —"

Artemis used the distraction to side sweep at the man's feet, making him fall flat on his back. Then she hog tied the man she was still straddling and head-butted him unconscious.

Batman had the other in a choke hold. "Last week you two wore clown masks in a robbery at Queen Industries. You're obviously working for Joker. So where is he?"

"Man, why would I work for that son of a—"

Batman struck him in the jaw. "Where is he?!"

"I can't tell you; he'll kill me!"

Another punch. The man spat blood, groaning in defeat.

"Alright. I never met with him directly. Last I heard he was back in Gotham, planning to steal from Wayne Tech. He has a new hide out in the old subway stations down town, but I-I've never been there..." Batman pushed him harder against the wall, and Artemis wondered if he would break through the plaster. "He's also planning something. Something big. I don't know more than that!"

Batman threw him into the coffee table with a growl, glancing at Artemis to see if she was unhurt. "I'm good," she said, standing and pulling her skirt back down. "Thanks for that."

But the Dark Knight was already outside, heading towards the Batmobile.

"Dick deserves a lot more credit," she mumbled.

"I heard that."

_Of course you did._

* * *

Dick peered through the window. The target was typing away on his computer, darkness surrounding him save the faint glow of an office lamp. Dick unsheathed the sword, ready to break the window, when something caught his eye at the other end of the room. A ball.

It was bouncing up and down behind a chair, causing him to crease his brow in confusion. What the hell? Then the chair swiveled, revealing a young boy sleepily entertaining himself with the toy.

Dick swore. Who brings their kid to work at 11:00 at night? Did he not have a mom?

An image began to burn behind his eyes, another memory. Not now!

_"How are you __working__ right now?" asked Dick incredulously, noticing the time. _

_"I have to work, or I can't be you-know-who. But you, you should catch some shut-eye." _

_Dick rolled his eyes playfully. "What, are you Alfred now?" Bruce smirked. "If you stay up, I stay up. When you sleep, I sleep."_

_Bruce stared at him for a moment, obviously thinking hard behind his eyes of steel, and then he nodded. "Alright, but just —"_

_"—don't say anything to Alfred, I know. It's our secret." The boy smiled, returning to his book._

Dick shook his head. He needed to focus. But he couldn't kill the man in front of his son. He couldn't be like Zucco. He refused to see the boy cry over his parent's dead body.

His foot slipped and he stumbled. The mistake caught the man's attention, and his face morphed to terror upon seeing someone dangling off the window sill. Panicking, he hit the security button under his desk and jostled to his feet. Before he could move towards his son, Dick kicked the window, shattering it into a million pieces as he tore through the shards. He heard the boy scream, and then his mind went blank, leaving but one priority.

Kill.

* * *

"Come in, Robin and Batgirl."

Tim exchanged glances with Barbara in surprise.

"What's going on, Mal?"

"We've got trouble. Break-in at the capitol building. Get there as fast as possible."

The duo had been patrolling Gotham…okay, and maybe looking for any clues leading to Dick. But, like the past six months, they had found nothing. Bruce had finally let the police in on the situation and confirmed Dick to be missing. The world had taken a collective gasp, and with the public outcry and media everywhere, they hoped for any kind of lead.

In several minutes they reached the building. A window on the third floor was broken, ghostly drapes blowing in the wind. They used their grappling guns and shortly found themselves inside.

A man had his throat sliced open cleanly, a look of sadness and fear plastered on his pale face. Tim dragged his eyes from the victim to the computer. The hard drive files were 99% deleted. He started typing to salvage the rest, attempting to reprogram the virus, but he was too late. Whoever had bugged this drive hadn't been slack of computer knowledge, that's for sure. Whatever had been there, someone wanted it gone for good.

Something whimpered. Barbara froze, locking eyes with Tim before crouching down by the desk. "…It's okay, you can come out now," she whispered, reaching out. A small boy crawled from underneath the table into her embrace. She looked over his shoulder to Tim, and nodded at the window. It took him a second to figure out what she was referring to, but then he saw the blood dripping from the broken glass.

* * *

**THAT'S ALL FOR NOW! REVIEW PRETTY PLEASE! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for such a long wait, guys. With school and sports and AP classes I'm swamped. But I'll try to update as much as possible. Your reviews really encouraged me to continue; I was on the brink of not finishing this! P.S. strong language.**

* * *

Dick knew they'd placed a tracker on him in order to avoid any "detours". But he was smarter than they thought. He put the small device on a night bus heading back near headquarters; he had some unfinished business to take care of.

Quick and unseen, he made his way towards the abandoned subway stations. He didn't think about anything other than the goal sprouting in his brain. He didn't pay attention to the drops of blood speckled on his face, or the stubborn ache in his stomach. None of that was important.

After half an hour of racing down the tracks, he saw a light glowing from inside one of the ticket stations. It was guarded by several goons, wearing the typical clown masks and machine guns. But that's not what caught his eye. About twenty more were stacking crates into wheelbarrows and carrying the loads down the tunnels. Dick used the darkness to his advantage and snuck up behind them, eyeing the boxes and almost sighing in exasperation. Explosives.

He felt his eye twitch and clenched his fists. Hurryingly, he sliced open two men at once and silently broke the other's neck before rushing inside the booth. He locked the door and turned around, facing Joker, who was sprawled out on a foldable lawn chair.

"Have you come to join the party, Frankenstein?" The red lips flashed a set of teeth. "Get it? Because you're my creation? A monster?" He laughed at his own joke and then snapped his fingers. "You know, in a way, I've killed two birds with one stone, well not so much a stone as a _crowbar_…"

Narrowing his eyes, Dick brought his bloody sword into view.

He almost frowned. "Oh, so it's going to be one of _those_ kinds of parties."

* * *

"So this is what he was planning…"

Batman didn't respond. He only watched as the men set down the last of the explosives and towed the empty wheelbarrow back down the tunnel. He moved to follow them, and heard Tigress on his heels.

"Are we just going to—"

"Shhh!"

"Yeesh!"

"No, be quiet." Batman pulled her to the side of the tunnel, shielding them behind a support beam of rotting wood. Slowly her expression of confusion melted into seriousness as footsteps sounded from where they had just been standing. A man walked past, garbed in a black leather jacket and a red biker-like helmet. He held a gun, that is until Batman knocked it out of his hand and pinned him to the rusty rails. The man squirmed underneath him and then started laughing.

"Come on, Bats. Let me up. We're on the same side, here."

Tigress gasped. No one talks to Batman like that. Except maybe her...sometimes.

"Why are you following us?" Batman pressed, and she was glad the young man was wearing a helmet to protect his head against the steel tracks.

"I'm not. I'm looking for Joker," he answered, frustration in his voice. "Personal business."

"How do I know that when I let you up, you aren't going to shoot us both?"

"Well, besides my word…you don't. But the chick's hot so I won't hurt her, and you're the goddamn Batman, so you'll live either way." Batman glared at him before rising and watching the man clamber to his feet. Tigress had to try really, really hard not to laugh.

Neither moved until the man suddenly snapped his gun up to Bruce's face. Cocking his head amusedly at the stern countenance, he pointed the gun to the left and pulled the trigger. A goon behind them fell to the ground, the loaded weapon still in his hands. Tigress flinched but said nothing, and when the man waited there patiently, Batman turned and continued walking, completely disregarding them both.

"You're _welcome_."

Tigress couldn't believe her ears. Was this guy serious?

"Red Hood, by the way," he said, when he realized Batman was too preoccupied with the mission to provide him any attention.

Tigress shot him a look. "You are _so_ dead." She could tell he was grinning, even though his face was covered.

"Why are you after the clown anyways?" he asked curiously, and she could almost detect a hint of hope, a hint of excitement in his tone.

"Well, he kidnapped Nightwing, you know, the first Robin, six months ago. We haven't heard from either of them since."

Red stopped in his tracks, his hands balling into fists. Then when he realized he was showing emotion he couldn't afford to display, he relaxed and kept walking. Tigress didn't say anything, but she had a feeling Nightwing wasn't just another name to him.

They followed the vigilante down the tunnel, until the darkness began to thin, and light poured in from a boarding area. Keeping hidden, they calculated their approach.

Batman turned to glare at their new _member_. "If you shoot anyone, I won't hesitate to break your back and leave you down here."

Red crossed his arms. "I don't do orders. I play things my way, or no way."

Batman growled. He didn't argue.

They turned to attack, but in the few seconds they had been looking elsewhere, three goons had been murdered. _What the hell?!_ Tigress turned to the antihero accusingly, but he raised his hands in innocence, his gun still in its holster.

The other thugs had taken notice, and were gathering around the door to the station, yelling at one another to stay alert. Then the trio moved as one, knocking the men down like bowling pins. Tigress was impressed. She wasn't going to lie. Red could _move_. In less than a minute they had diminished their threat, (without anyone dying) and Batman burst through the locked door.

There was a sudden movement in the rear of the room, but the glimpse of the figure was just a blur before it disappeared. Artemis swore it looked like an owl…

They turned their attention to the opposite corner of the station, and Red almost dropped his gun.

Joker was lying on the ground, gurgling his own blood as his ghost white fingers pressed down on the open gash of his torso. He wasn't smiling.

Batman lunged at him, falling to the floor and grasping his collar. "WHERE IS HE?!" His voice rattled the tunnels, rattled the world with the sound of desperation. He was being scary. Really scary.

The villain let out a weak cackle, his eyes lolling around as if unsure where to look. He was dying. Joker was _dying_. Those words didn't flow together. The guy was practically immortal.

"...Dick Grayson...is..." Joker smiled evilly, "..._dead_..."

Batman stiffened, and Tigress gasped. "...'s my party...can die if I want to…" he hummed, and then his yellow eyes glazed over, and his countenance froze with broken humor, like his final joke wasn't as funny as it should have been. He let out a short breath before his body went still.

Batman roared and tried to revive the clown, shaking his limp shoulders and pounding the purple chest. But the psycho wasn't coming back.

Tigress felt her tongue grow heavy, like she was about to puke, and she swayed a little before reaching out for the wall to steady herself. Dick was dead. Wally was dead. Her world was deteriorating under her own feet.

Red Hood was backing out of the room, and then he just turned and fled before she could say anything. Guess they weren't the only ones who needed vital information they would never receive.

Batman was still trying to resuscitate the dead, wanting evidence, wanting more as denial ate at his insides. After several minutes, Tigress approached him, and to her surprise, he didn't cower away or scream at her to leave. He just hung his head, defeated.

* * *

Jason panted, cool puffs of air visible in the frozen night. Was his heart actually too heavy for his body? It felt like an anchor dragging him to the bottom of this cruel world.

Batman had replaced him with another Robin. A _replacement_!

Jason was dead to all records and people he once knew. Forgotten. Put out of mind.

Joker was dead. And so was Dick. And even fucking Wally!

No. This couldn't be happening!

"NO!" he screamed at the darkness. He ripped off his helmet and threw it into the pond, doubling over onto the grass.

He should be relieved right? The man who had killed him, he was gone, for real. It didn't seem possible, and in a way, Jason knew it _couldn't_ be true, but then again, he had seen it with his own eyes. The clown's final laugh had resounded in his ears, the sick light in his pupils had been put out for good. His murderer was finally dead, dead as the bullet shell under Jason's shoe, dead, just like he deserved to be. He could hurt no one else.

And it had ruined his whole plan.

Jason was going to get back at Bruce. He was going to make him kill Joker, make him see that that freak shouldn't still be breathing. He was going to make Bruce sorry.

But not anymore.

Dick was dead. Bruce's golden, favorite, idiotic ….He choked out a sob.

His brother was gone. The one Bruce had tried so hard to mold Jason into. The one Jay had looked up to, no matter how much he refuted that statement. They weren't the closest of siblings, but they were still brothers, maybe not by blood, but by...by Bruce. And they had shared a bond, even though it sucked to admit something like that. One of the few people he did allow close to his heart had been ripped away. Right when he had returned.

Dick had been taken, most likely beaten, and then killed by that clown. The murderer had discovered their secret identities; he posed a threat to the city of Gotham, to the world. And Batman tried to bring the son of a bitch back to life.

It was confusing. Sure, Bruce hadn't gone to extreme lengths to bring justice to Jason's death, but Dick was…_Dick_. The happy-go-lucky, charming Night-twit. His brother had always told him their adoptive father cared for them all equally, but he always assumed…

Maybe Dick was right...maybe his stupid rule prohibited it...maybe Bruce wouldn't have killed Joker after all. Even if it _was_ Richard that had been murdered…

Jason bared his teeth, fingers digging into the grass. Someone was going to pay.

* * *

Bruce told Alfred what had happened and then silently drifted to the cemetery in the back of the manor, without waiting for the tears or the pain to appear on the old man's face. Yes, Joker could have been lying. Yes, Dick might still be out there.

But hope like that just didn't exist inside him anymore.

He didn't think it was possible to feel quite this dead and still be alive. After his parents were taken from him, he went into a dark place, the legend of Batman rising from the ashes of his past. When Jason was murdered, he became paranoid, weak, and he built another wall. Now…now there was a deeper hole in the ground, another cave calling him.

Dick was his son. And he had let his son get killed. He had agreed to let him go out on patrol that one night, eleven years ago, and forever be engraved in the life of crime fighting. In danger.

He stared at his parents' graves.

Dead.

Bruce screamed at the sky, a long cry of misery until his throat gave out. Then he slumped to the grass and weeped.

_"Dick, I want you…I want you to come and live with me."_

_The boy's teary eyes darted to the man. "Wh-what?" The superintendent of the orphanage was gaping, along with her employees and Dick's social worker, who looked beyond pissed._

_"I mean, only if you want to, of course. I won't force you into anything…I just thought that we have a lot in common, and when we talked the last few times—"_

_Dick sprinted from his cot and tackled the older man with a hug. Bruce's eyes went wide with surprise and uncertainty. Then Alfred gestured that it was alright, that the child was in fact __**not**__ a bomb, and Bruce tentatively returned the embrace._

_The boy was so small and fragile in his arms, and yet in a way he kept Bruce sturdy. Like a balance with the seamless stress of light and dark. Oh no, was he going to be like Clark now? Making ridiculous metaphors and shit? Yikes. _

_He crouched down next to the kid, and the boy was beaming back, something the billionaire hadn't seen before. It was freaking contagious. _

_"So, I take that as a yes?" he asked quietly._

_Dick nodded excitedly. "You…you get it. You understand. There's no one else who knows what it's like."_

_Bruce grinned. "I feel the same way, chum. So are you ready to leave this place?"_

_The blue eyes sparkled. "I'm ready when you are, Bruce."_

* * *

"You killed the Joker."

Dick almost rolled his eyes. "Yes."

Cobb slammed his hand on the table. "That was _not_ part of your assignment."

"I know. I had some unresolved business to take care of."

The other Talon hissed. "It looks to me like you don't know which side you're on. Joker was one of _us_."

"Joker didn't have side. He was a maniac; and you're a fool for trusting him."

"Why you—" He started at Dick, but Cobb motioned for him to wait.

Dick blinked, unfazed. "His next big move was to wipe the west half of Gotham off the face of the Earth. Now I'm no expert here, but aren't you supposed to be defending your city? Isn't that a rather serious threat? I took care of him for you."

"How do you know—?"

"You'll find about six tons of explosives hidden inside every old metro station from Kingston Avenue and on."

William sat back, contemplating about something.

After a brief silence his great grandfather got up. "Very well." Then he turned his head to the back of the room. "Give him twenty slashes. He needs to learn to follow orders."

* * *

**YAY! I hope you guys like the twist. And sorry for the language, but I warned you! (Jason, you potty mouth!)**


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